


Decoction

by ArchOfImagine



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Dean, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Art, Bottom!Sam, M/M, Mpreg, Omega Sam, S10 A/U, Wincest Reverse Bang 2016, top!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-06-07 22:59:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6828613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArchOfImagine/pseuds/ArchOfImagine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Sam draws closer to the end of his pregnancy, his focus remains solely on curing Dean of the Mark of Cain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Decoction

**Author's Note:**

> Note to self: don't go on vacation when you have BB's due. Live and learn. Day late, dollar short.
> 
> Huge apologies to my [wonderful artist.](http://blackbluerose25.tumblr.com/) Art for the story can be found [HERE](http://blackbluerose25.tumblr.com/post/144165838600).

**de·coc·tion**   
_noun_

the liquor resulting from concentrating the essence of a substance by heating or boiling, especially a medicinal preparation made from a plant.

\---

Sometimes in the dead of night, Sam woke up to a gentle kick on the inside of stretched out skin and felt like he was in a low-budget horror film. It was always that first glimpse of wakefulness that had him forgetting.

_Baby. Pregnant. Normal._

Sitting up, he glanced around the dark bedroom and tried to understand what he was hearing and what had a chill rolling down his spine at the thought of _something is wrong._

That's when he realized that the bed next to him was empty. He brushed a hand out along the chocolate brown sheets and frowned at the realization that they were cold. His alpha was gone — not only that, but he hadn’t been in bed for a while. 

With a groan, Sam gripped beneath this extended stomach and slowly eased out of bed. At six and a half months, everything was a _process_.

He slipped his feet into his favorite slippers and grabbed a robe (underground hide-outs were _way_ too cold for his current liking) before heading out in search of his mate. It didn’t take much searching. Out in the main library, Dean sat at the desk with a bottle of whiskey and an empty glass. Sam took a deep breath and tried to fight off the aggravation. This had been happening ever since Dean came back from being a demon. It was like the evil still radiated there, at Dean’s base instinct, and his first solution to eliminate the anger was to drown it in alcohol.

It wasn’t working very well, in Sam’s opinion. It just left Dean bitchy and hungover, losing too much sleep and pushing farther away from Sam. 

Which, above all else, probably hurt the most. Mates were supposed to be inseparable. That was the entire point. When an alpha took a mate, he gave himself to that person for the rest of his life — and vice versa. Sam had known the minute he agreed to be Dean’s mate that he would never love another. Sometimes, if their mate died young, an alpha could move on later in life and remate — for an omega, like Sam, that was never going to be an option. Which is why it hurt so bad when, because of that asshole Metatron, Dean had been killed.

It was like a piece of Sam’s very _soul_ had also died, blackened with grief.

“Dean?”

The alpha looked up, a lifetime’s worth of trouble in his eyes. “Hey, Sammy.”

On the bad nights, just like that one, sometimes the frustration got the best of Sam. He wanted to scream and beg and tell Dean that he had to _get over himself_ and move on. They had a baby coming, for fuck’s sake!

\---

_Sam wasn’t a fan of doctors. It was probably a product of being a hunter — there was just an underlying quirk in his brain that said: doctors = bad. But it had been six weeks since Dean had died and subsequently_ disappeared _, and he was still having issues with the way he was feeling._

_At first he had wrote it off as grief — his mate was gone, it wasn’t much of a surprise that he wouldn’t be able to eat or sleep well._

_But it had to be more than that._

_“Congratulations, Mr. Winchester. You’re pregnant.”_

_Ah, fuck._

\---

“Why aren’t you in bed?” he questioned, despite the fact that he damn well knew exactly why Dean wasn’t in their bed. Walking across the room, he stood behind Dean’s chair and brushed a gentle hand through his alpha’s hair. “Dean?”

“I didn’t—” The older man’s words cut off with a choked sob. Sam watched him fall forward, hands holding his face. He mumbled a few words, but Sam couldn’t hear them.

“What?”

An angry fist slammed down on the table. “I didn’t want to hurt you!”

His stomach sank and he took a cautionary step back, away from Dean. Before all of this — Metatron, demon!Dean, the Mark of Cain — Sam had _never_ been afraid of his mate. Sure, they had argued, had spent a few days being so pissed off at each other that they didn’t even talk, but that was just a product of spending their entire existance together and knowing exactly which buttons to push.

Now? Now, Sam was scared. A protective hand laid on his extended stomach as he stared at Dean. “Why would you… why would you hurt us, Dean?”

An arm outstretched, and Sam saw the glow of the Mark. Dean’s voice was barely more than a whisper, “I don’t understand why it’s doing this but I lay there beside you and imagine horrible things and I can’t do it, Sammy, I just can’t.”

“So… you’re gonna, what? Sit here and drink yourself into a stupor, instead? I’m not willing to let this be the rest of my life, Dean! We’re having a _child_... I need my mate, Dean. I need my alpha.”

Dean looked up at him, sorrow and regret in his eyes. With a deep breath, Sam traced his hand down Dean’s face and leaned forward to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Come to bed. Let’s work out some of this frustration. I know you, Dean, I’ve trusted you my entire life… you _won’t_ hurt me.”

“Sam—”

“Please?”

\---

_It was three years after the day Dean picked Sam up from Stanford, that they first got together. Sam had always felt that inkling of attraction, but had never acted on it for fear of rejection. It wasn’t unheard of for siblings to be mates — sometimes biological imperative trumped genetic lineage — so it wasn’t like he had a fear of scorn based on a long seated taboo._

_No, it was more like — he watched Dean walking in and out of motel rooms with a variant of the same nameless woman each night, for three years, knowing that he could never compete with that. It was always women, never men. Always betas — never omegas._

_The fact was… Sam wasn’t, despite whatever his body thought or desired, Dean’s_ type.

_It was with the fear of death looming, that things changed. Dean had literally sold his soul for Sam, and Sam’s emotions grew stronger._

_One night, Sam watched Dean get ready for another night on the town, and everything just kind of exploded inside of him. “You know I want you, right?”_

_Dean’s fingers froze, holding onto the third button of the shirt he had been putting on. “Wha—”_

_“I watch you go out with these nameless, faceless, whores and I wonder… is that really what your alpha wants?”_

_“Sam,” his tone was warning, but Sam wasn’t going to hold back now that he had gotten started._

_“Initially I thought that I wasn’t your type. I believed it, after seeing you go through betas like they were endangered.” Sam sat on the edge of the bed and picked nervously at a string sticking up out of his jeans. “Then you made that deal, and I realized that a_ brother _wouldn’t do that. Siblings don’t feel that strongly for each other — feel that pull that makes them want to keep the other person alive no matter what.” He shook his head, looking up at Dean. “That is something mates do. Something an alpha does for his omega.”_

_“Sam.” A frustrated hand dug through short hair, Dean’s half-buttoned shirt all but forgotten. “I can’t…”_

_“Can’t? Won’t? Don’t want to?”_

_“Dad said you were off limits. Said that no sons of his were going to be brother-loving freaks.”_

_Sam stood up, ready to scream at his brother in frustration. “DAD?! You’re avoiding something that we_ both _want because of_ DAD _? He’s not even alive, Dean! He has absolutely no control over what we do with the rest of our lives…”_

_Dean looked like he was going to protest more, but Sam had had enough. He moved forward, shoving his brother back against the wall and moving a hand up to play at the half-done buttons. “Forget everyone, everything that exists outside of this bedroom and tell me — do you want me?”_

_There was absolutely no hesitation, “God, yes.”_

\---

“You remember our first time?”

Sam held onto Dean’s hand as he lead him towards their bedroom.

Dean squeezed his fingers gently. “Of course.” When they stepped into their room, Dean curled his arm around Sam’s chest and pulled him close, lips dancing along the bare skin of Sam’s shoulder. “You always were a pushy bastard.”

Sam spun around, reaching for Dean’s wrist and lifting it up. “Everything we’ve been through, Dean — heaven, hell, purgatory — all of it; you think this little mark on your arm is going to be the thing that makes me lose you? Because I don’t.”

Shaking his head, Dean moved the hand that Sam held and laid it on the extended belly where their child grew. “I don’t want to hurt you, Sam. You or the pup.”

“You won’t.” Sam kicked his slippers away and dropped his robe, leaving him in only a pair of thin boxer-briefs. “Now.. I think the best solution to all of our problems is simple.” He reached out, hand brushing over the front of Dean’s sweatpants. “A nice good knotting.”

His mate groaned, but didn’t protest as Sam began to strip him of his clothes. When they were both naked, Sam crawled onto the bed, belly hanging beneath him as he presented himself to his mate and looked over his shoulder. “Dean?”

“Fuck, you’re pretty,” Dean mumbled, hand smoothing over the skin of Sam’s ass. He pulled Sam’s cheeks apart and leaned forward, licking a needy tongue along the sweet slick that was already dripping from Sam’s hole. “Needy little O.”

Sam wasn’t a big fan of kinks that feminized him — he was an omega, yes, but he was also six-and-a-half feet of gigantic male, with a dick to boot — but when Dean got in a mood and started whispering filthy things about Sam’s _wet pussy_ and how much of a _needy little bitch_ Sam was — well, he kind of lost his shit. 

Holding himself up with one arm, he reached down to stroke his cock. “You gonna fuck that hole, or just keep playing with it?” 

A slap landed on a pert asscheek as Dean growled, “It’s my hole, I’ll do with it as I want.”

Despite his words, Dean was obviously feeling the affects of going a few days without a proper knotting — he gave one last careful lick to Sam’s hole, before stroking his cock and pressing the tip to Sam’s slick entrance.

Without much warning, Dean shoved forward, bottoming out in one smooth move and causing Sam to cry out in pure bliss. “Fuck, yes!” Dean was completely right — Sam was definitely a needy little bitch. “Hard, alpha, fuck me hard.”

Another slap. “Excuse me?”

“ _Please._ ”

“Better.” With a gasp and a grunt, Dean began moving faster, fucking Sam like it was the last time he would ever get to. Maybe a part of him, the part tied to the Mark, believed that. “Gonna knot you up, Sammy. You want my knot?”

Abandoning his own erection in favor of holding himself upright better, Sam nodded his head, hair falling into his eyes. “Yes, please,” he groaned.

A few more sharp thrusts and Sam could feel the stretch-pull at the rim of his hole. It felt _amazing._ And when Dean sank all the way in one last time, knot inflating completely and rubbing perfectly over Sam’s prostate, he was a goner. He cried out a moment later, orgasm hitting him without warning.

As Dean’s knot settled in deep and his come coated Sam’s insides, Dean shifted them so that they were laying on their sides. As their heads found pillows, Dean drifted down to Sam’s stomach and brushed along the stretched skin.

“I love you,” Dean whispered.

For that moment, it was all Sam wanted to hear — even if he knew it didn’t mean their problems were solved.

\---

The next month got gradually worse — Dean fighting more anger and pulling farther from Sam with each second that passed. Finally, after yet another endless argument that Sam couldn’t even pinpoint the reasoning of, he broke down and called Cas — praying that their angel friend would have an answer.

Castiel didn’t sound great, in the midst of battling his own war, but he had something resembling an answer.

“I’ve talked to a few people, went over a few ancient tomes, and think I might have something.” Castiel let out a soft sigh. “It isn’t perfect, but—”

“Cas,” Sam whispered, eyes scanning the area around him for any sign of Dean. He had escaped the comfort of the bunker to stand out in the woods surrounding it, away from Dean’s prying ears and the Mark putting adverse reactions in his mate’s mind. “Anything will help. I can’t bring a child into this mess.”

“Well it isn’t a complete solution. From what I’m finding, in order to get rid of the Mark, we’d have to deal with some pretty brutal magic that would unleash havoc on the world.” He mumbled something else, something that Sam couldn’t hear through the phone line, so he asked Castiel to repeat himself. “I said… we’d have to kill _Death._ ”

“Fuck.” Sam had absolutely no idea how they would ever be able to manage that.

“Yeah. But, according to the tomes, we can _neutralize_ the Mark.”

Sam frowned, hand resting on his belly as he glanced around once more. “How?”

“There are some ancient herbs hidden in the ruins of Babylon. If I can get them, a concoction could be made to silence the powers of the Mark. So essentially it would still be there, but Dean would be in control. If he wanted to use those powers, he could seek out that part of his mind, but he could also learn to silence them completely until they lay dormant in his mind.”

Sam let out a relieved breath — that was the best news he had heard in months. The only downside was that in his current predicament, there was no way for him to help Castiel in the retrieval of the herbs. Which Castiel obviously knew, even if he hadn’t seen exactly how far Sam’s middle had expanded. “Cas, I can’t… I can’t help. What can I do from here?”

“Actually,” Sam could practically _feel_ Cas frowning. “I might need money for a plane ticket?”

And it was such an insignificant thing — but the realization that the angel was still moving through life without his wings, made Sam sad. “Sure, buddy. Once I get back inside, I’ll set everything up and text you.”

\---

Seven — veryyyy long — days later, Sam left a hungover Dean and took the Impala to pick up Castiel at the airport. When their friend climbed into the passenger seat carrying a brown paper sack, Sam smiled. “Miss your wings?”

“There was a woman _screaming_ in the row behind mine, because her connecting flight was delayed and she had to sit in the back.” Castiel looked towards Sam with a frown. “I don’t understand people.”

“Some people can’t be understood.” He motioned to the bag, “Did you find the plant?”

“I did. We’ll need a few other ingredients, but everything should be available at the bunker.” They drove in silence for a few minutes, as Sam navigated away from the airport, before Castiel finally spoke again. “How is Sahana?” 

Sam laughed and shook his head. Every time Castiel was near, he came bearing another name idea, each more exotic and meaningful than the last. “Sahana?”

“Patience.”

With a nod, he brushed his hand over his stomach. “We could all use a little of that.”

\---

When they made it back to the bunker, Sam felt his heart race at the sight of destruction around the library. Books were thrown across the floor, one of the lamps laid in pieces, and a chair was halfway across the room.

That wasn’t even mentioning the scattered liquor bottles both intact and broken. “Dean?” He called out, moving carefully through the mess. His stomach was in knots — wondering how his mate could have gone on such a rampage just in the few hours that he was gone.

The alpha was in the kitchen, sitting against the cabinets and staring at a towel wrapped around his wrist. When Sam spotted the red blotches on the towel, he surged forward and carefully leaned down to grab Dean’s wrist. “Dean?”

It was like his mate was in a trance, barely blinking, definitely not responding. Sam looked over his shoulder at Castiel. “Hurry. Get what you need and get the potion.”

The former angel nodded and didn’t hesitate to quickly move around the bunker, finding ingredients and putting together the spell. When he walked back into the kitchen an hour later, Dean still hadn’t moved. Sam sat next to him, having bandaged up the wound on Dean’s hand, before carefully easing himself onto the floor so he could wrap his arms around his mate.

“Here,” Castiel said, holding out a bowl of liquid. He knelt over Dean and guided the lip of the bowl to the alpha’s lips. “You have to drink it all, Dean.”

Sam grimaced at the smell, thankful that _he_ wasn’t the one that had to drink it. “Even if it tastes like shit.”

It took coaxing, but they managed to convince a catatonic Dean to drink the liquid. As soon as the last drop was gone, the Mark of Cain started to grow brightly. A moment later, Dean’s whole body spasmed, before his eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed sideways to the floor. Sam stared at Dean in shock and worry, before looking at Castiel for an explanation.

“It’s normal. Don’t worry.” Cas held his hand out to Sam, “Since neither one of us can manage to lift him or carry him back to your room, let me help you up and we’ll get him some pillows. It might be a few hours before the herbs clear his system.

\---

Sitting on the floor and waiting patiently for Dean to wake up — was not something that his back approved of. After going back and forth between a couple different chairs, Sam finally asked Castiel to help him move his favorite rocking chair (the one that Dean had brought home three months ago in a burst of paternal instinct) into the kitchen next to Dean.

Which is probably exactly why he fell asleep waiting.

When he woke up, his eyes went immediately to the floor, searching for Dean. The other man was gone though, and Sam felt a rush of panic. 

“I’m here,” his mate whispered. Sam turned to his left and smiled at the sight of Dean sitting in a chair next to him. Dean leaned forward, brushing Sam’s hair out of his face. “Didn’t want to wake you. You looked so peaceful — keeping a vigil over me.”

“I didn’t want to lose you,” Sam gasped.

Dean’s forward rested gently against Sam’s, as the alpha wiped a stray tear from Sam’s eye. “I’m not going anywhere, mate. You and Sahana are stuck with me.”

Sam made it all of five seconds before he groaned. “Please don’t get name suggestions from Castiel…”

When Dean started to laugh, Sam leaned forward to cut the sound off with a kiss.

The truth was, after everything he had done for them, Castiel probably deserved naming rights to the baby. 

But maybe they could restrict him to a normal baby naming book...


End file.
